


Gratitude

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [31]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Attempted Filicide, Brothers, Children, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Dogs, Double Penetration, Drama, Excessive German, Excessive Headcanoning, Family, Faun!Scout, Fauns & Satyrs, Fingers in Mouth, Garuda - Freeform, Holidays, Humor, Identity Reveal, M/M, Multi, OC Scout's Brothers, Separations, Thanksgiving, Wine, garuda!Medic, half-jotun!Heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Thanksgiving in the US, and for the employees of New Mexico-based BLU, that means a week-long furlough for travel and family time.  Whether you celebrate it or not.  For most of the team this means a vacation.  For Scout, it means a visit home to his massive family, and fresh into a relationship, he hasn't had the chance to RSVP for two more mouths to feed.  So it means time apart from Heavy and Medic.  It also means confronting a very important question: what does he tell his Ma about no longer being human?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was being fucked by an angel.

Scout could barely keep his eyes open, lashes fluttering, mouth stretched around distressed bellows, his whole body drawn tight as a bowstring. It was so much, too much, his body shaking with the shocks of being invaded and utterly ruined. Looking up through watery eyes, tears born of overwhelmed bliss threatening to roll down his temples, the panting faun fancied he saw a halo above his lover's head. Though that may have just been the room's overhead light left on during sex again.

Massive white wings fanned out above him, stretching to the ceiling and shuddering with pleasure as the body that bore them rocked into him, lean muscle under pale flesh flexing with each snap of the perfect creature's hips. Every stroke mirrored the slower, more leisurely thrusts of the giant man laying beneath the faun.

Heavy held Scout close, his massive hands petting at the smaller man's sides and hips, petting along warm skin and soft fur with equal reverence. His eyes were closed, lost in sensation as he just let himself feel. Scout was shuddering atop him, his tail wagging where it was pressed against his belly, tugged up to make room for the giant's cock, which was seated comfortably in the faun's well-slicked ass. Heavy thrust slowly up into him, instead allowing Medic to take the more active role, content to be rutted against by his elder lover while wrapped in the warm, tight confines of their younger partner's body. He fancied it terribly intimate, essentially frotting while fucking Scout, a form of lovemaking so tender and close compared to other configurations the three could perform. Plus, it was so much fun to turn Scout into a whimpering puddle atop him, and that was certainly what Medic was working toward.

Scout arched up as Medic's pace picked up speed, the comfortable rhythm kicked up into something designed to drive barks from the smaller man. The doctor's cock lanced into him, like bolts of lightning into his open and stretched body, sliding against Heavy's length and driving tears to finally spill from the faun's eyes, overwhelmed and ecstatic.

The garuda drove into Scout with abandon, his high voice leaving thin, kiss-bruised lips in hurried grunts, words sneaking out between them to speak words of praise in a language Scout did not understand, but found utterly beautiful. It was guttural and rough, but soft and whispering all at once, with hard sounds that had edges, and soft sounds that were more like sighs than parts of words.

"Mein kleiner Spatz, du bist schön, wie du bist. Du kannst weder sprechen, noch die Augen aufhalten, ist es nicht so? So erfüllt von uns, so geweitet. Ich weiß, du kannst es kaum erwarten unseren Samen zu kriegen. Dass wir unsere Spuren in dir hinterlassen dürfen. Wartest auf uns, dass wir Dich nehmen und Dich fluten, bis Du es nicht mehr halten kannst, bis wir aus dir heraustropfen." The words dripped from the winged doctor's tongue, filthy, but spoken with a voice so sweet Scout couldn't be sure if he was being romanced or degraded.

Heavy knew from experience that the doctor's tone meant it was both, bucking up into Scout against him. "Doktor, when you talk like this, it is too much," he hissed, hands tightening around the faun's hips.

"If only you could understand me," Medic purred, gaze flicking to his larger lover's pale eyes, "you would be fucking him _harder_."

"Fuck," Scout moaned between whimpers, nails digging into the older man's shoulders as he held on tightly.

"Is that a request?" the doctor teased.

"I—I d—fuuuuuck..." came the faun's addled nonsense reply. Words were beyond him, adrift in a sea of his body's own chemistry and drowned by the all-consuming pleasure that crashed against him.

Heavy chuckled a bit at that. Scout was adorably useless when overstimulated, every sensation multiplied more than man was meant to feel, completely obliterating the slim athlete and turning him into a gibbering mess when his boyfriends conspired to drive him over the edge. Which they'd taken to doing regularly, and with great joy.

"Solch’ ein schönes kleines Ding, vor lauter Scham errötet," Medic cooed, running one black-nailed hand down Scout's furry leg, both of which were hanging uselessly, yet tense and tight, in the air on either side of the doctor's hips, spread wide for his lovers. Medic was right, Scout's face was bright red, as was his neck. His chest and shoulders had begun to match, and it was as terribly adorable as it was attractive. "Du bist unsers - Dich zu küssen, Deinen Körper zu lieben. Wir sind es, die geehrt sind, Dein Herz zu teilen," came softer sighs from the garuda, that same hand reaching forward to pet a thumb across the faun's reddened cheek. His face was tacky with sweat, and he could barely focus his eyes, pupils blown wide enough to almost eclipse the sapphire of his irises. "Gott, ich liebe dich."

Scout caught that one. He _knew_ that one. Medic loved him. God, Medic loved him, and he loved Medic, and it felt so good, it made his chest hurt, gulping down air dumbly as he tried and failed to return the sentiment. The tenderness in the garuda's gaze, the adoration, was almost too much to handle, and were he not already crying from being fucked into oblivion, he'd be feeling pretty unmanly about how mushy and giddy he felt. Instead, he whimpered softly in reply, and Medic popped his thumb into Scout's mouth.

The flesh atop the digit was rough and keratinous, a pinkish greyish sort of skin that reminded Scout of a dove's feet. His nails were hard and black, but trimmed carefully, and Scout felt grateful for that as he pressed its top against the roof of his mouth, tongue going to work along the soft pad of its underside. Medic's skin was calloused, but far more natural feeling to the faun's recollection. He moaned around it, undulating his tongue along its length and fellating the handsome garuda's thumb eagerly.

A thought crossed his mind, that maybe Heavy and Medic would share him with another eventually. He was still free to sleep with the team, having physical needs to meet and not wanting to completely incapacitate his poor lovers with excessive exertion, as well as both of them acknowledging and respecting his feelings for the rest of the team the same as his feelings for them. But just because he was free to lie with others, it didn't mean he didn't fantasize about bringing them with him and making it a group endeavour. Maybe invite Soldier, or Spy to fill his mouth, or even in some of his more lurid fantasies, Demoman and Sniper, to join them in taking their pleasure of the hungry faun, in both using his body but worshiping it, making love to him, stuffing him full and demanding his hands, all while laying theirs all over him.

It would be the only thing that could even compare to what his lovers were doing to him, with him, and a cock in his mouth would be the icing on the cake, was the last thread of his errant thought before being dragged back into the proceedings when Heavy's massive hands left his hips. His eyes opened in question, the sudden loss of contact enough to ground him amid the storm of sensations that swirled through him. Medic just grinned that too-toothy smile of his, and suddenly Scout felt his head wrenched back against Heavy's body, chin tilted up a bit, the giant taking hold of his antlers to hold him down. Scout groaned and wriggled, fresh whines rising in his throat as those hands slipped down the exposed bone atop his head to grip near their bases, fingertips rubbing where bone met skin within his hairline, at the sensitive, highly-vascular flesh and sending ripples of strange, comforting pleasure through his skull.

They were hitting him in all the right places, and Heavy tugged his head to the side to expose his neck, allowing Medic the space he needed to dive in and suckle marks into his tanned, freckled skin, pulling needful whimpers from Scout's mouth, around the thumb that still pet against his eager tongue. If it were possible to scratch at his tail from their position, the faun was sure he would die, and it would be the best death in the history of deaths. Fucked off of this mortal coil by two gorgeous men hitting every single bliss button at once.

"Schön," Medic murmured against Scout's throat, teeth gentle, careful against the faun's soft skin. He wanted this to be lovemaking, not fucking. While they were playing with the younger man's kinks a bit, and certainly making the effort to devastate him sexually, this was not rough. Not now. Perhaps tomorrow, before the team broke for their furlough. They could spank and crop and viciously take their cervine lover, stretching out his surely sore ass and giving it a little abuse, perhaps along with some fingerprints on either side of his throat. It would ache to sit, and those marks would draw curious, scandalized looks from all who gazed upon him, little treasures to make the plane ride to Boston even less bearable.

Though that might be _too_ cruel to do to a man going home to visit his family.

Scout's breaths came faster, harder, puffing through his nose along Medic's hand, his body writhing atop Heavy's. He was close, so close, staving off his orgasm as best he could. He didn't want to come yet. He wanted them to fill him up, to feel their heat bloom inside of him. He swallowed thickly around the saliva filling his mouth, running out the corners of his lips around Medic's thumb.

His whole body was like a bird's eye view of a city at night, lit up, shining in thousands of little points of light, of energy, of sensation prickling and crackling through him to form a glowing net of pleasure that blocked out anything else but the beautiful brightness. He clutched Medic tightly, hips rolling without thought on his part, his body taking over and demanding release.

"Are you close, little Scout?" Heavy rumbled, his voice as warm as his large, fuzzy body, and Scout felt it in his balls.

The faun could only loose a throaty whine around a full mouth in reply.

"Horosho," the half-giant replied with a lustful sigh, his breath coming slow, thick, and betraying how close he'd grown as his lovers clashed atop him. Every squirm of the faun, every thrust of the garuda, drove him mad, and he gripped those antlers tightly, digging his heels into the mattress to buck up into Scout harder, faster, matching Medic with alternating strokes.

His groans carried through Scout's whole body making the faun clench around them, his muscles growing tight. Medic read the motion as his own cue, pressing close against the faun, bringing their bellies together and trapping his leaking cock between them, untouched through the whole experience.

Medic's favourite thing about fucking Scout was that he could come from penetration alone.

Scout did not disappoint him, his mouth falling open wide, garuda's thumb on his tongue as he arched up and forced himself down on both men's cocks, taking them both deep as his orgasm ripped through him. He keened a high bellow, eyes squeezed tight as he shuddered and spent himself out, spurting seed between his and Medic's bellies, his ass clenching in fluttering waves around the men inside of him. He sobbed and gasped, riding out his orgasm with bucking hips and Heavy and Medic thrusting in tandem to keep themselves buried as far as they could inside of him, the faun feeling like his very _soul_ was leaving him in that moment, burning and blazing white hot and throbbing with a need fulfilled. He guttered and slumped, spent, finished, his voice falling away and leaving him gulping down air like he'd run a marathon. After a moment of kisses and cooing, his lovers resumed their alternating thrusts, determined to give him everything.

It hit Heavy first, his hands returning to Scout's slack hips to put it to him urgently. He'd been so close in the wake of the faun's squeezing, and it didn't take much, a few hungry thrusts into his body, against Medic, to bring the giant man over the edge, coming with a low, lusty groan.

Medic followed quickly after, burying his face in Scout's neck and gripping him tightly as he bucked in, the younger man's whimpers coming out as hot breaths next to his ear. He cried out, his voice high and nasal and muffled against the faun's tanned skin as he emptied himself into Scout, his come joining Heavy's inside him.

It was a few moments of exhausted panting and dazed petting before anyone had the energy to move, pulling softening cocks from Scout's asshole, which gaped a bit in their wake. The youngest man shivered as he felt their combined seed dripping out and down his furry butt. Somewhere in his mind that could still think, he resolved to practice holding a human form so that he could feel that slippery slide of come on skin between his cheeks again. It was a sensation he loved, and one he quite missed. It just wasn't the same covered in fur.

"How are you, little Scout?" Heavy asked, blunt nails scratching gently through Scout's hair.

"...fuck," was all the faun could puff out, a loopy, buck-toothed grin across his face.

"I think he is alright," Medic teased. He took a deep breath, shaking off the last remnants of the afterglow and climbing off of them. He set about helping Heavy move their younger lover to the bed and clean him up. A wash cloth and a quickly cast spell to create a small amount of warm water later, Scout was being wiped clean, his legs lifted by Heavy as Medic did the honours.

They pampered him entirely too much, Scout thought as his boyfriends cleaned him off enough so that he wouldn't leak semen and lubricant all over the sheets, which Medic quickly changed after Heavy hefted himself and Scout off of the bed, then turned off the light. Maybe it wasn't pampering, so much as keeping the bed clean and being well aware of how entirely boneless and useless their younger lover was at the moment. Scout preferred to think of it as being pampered, and as they laid him back down, climbing in on either side of the faun in their oversized bed, they cuddled up against him, petting gently at his hair and belly.

Definitely pampered.

Heavy drew blankets up around them, tucking them in close, and claimed Scout's lips in a gentle kiss. He followed up by leaning over to Medic and offering him the same. Medic gave Scout a kiss when they parted, completing the circuit, and smiled a little sadly. "You really have to leave tomorrow?" he asked, nosing into Scout's hair to press a smooch to his scalp.

Scout sighed, coming down from his high. He hated the idea of leaving his lovers, his boyfriends, for Thanksgiving furlough, barely a week into their newly official relationship. He wished he could bring them with him, show them off to everyone, let his ma and brothers meet two of the men who made him so happy, the two he'd pledged to love, and who love him in return. But it might be a bit soon for that, and while his mother was comfortable with his orientation, that didn't especially mean she'd be comfortable with him dating two men at the same time. Even less likely was her comfort with both of his boyfriends being older than she was by a couple of years.

"Yeah, I gotta. I'd already promised to be home for Thanksgivin', months ago. I can't cancel the week of, even if it's because I'm stupid in love with two hot guys," the faun grinned, reaching over to give Medic's thigh a grope. "Same with Smissmas, too." That one was a lot more painful to think about.

"Will miss tiny Scout," Heavy murmured, tightening his arm around Scout's belly, drawing him into his broad, furry chest and smiling at the faun's sigh of bliss as he nuzzled into the giant's fuzz.

"I'mma miss you guys too."

"Ach, so little time before we have to part for a week. It is not fair at all, Vogelchen," Medic teased, wrapping his own arm around Scout's chest and tugging himself close up against the faun's other side. "You have terrible timing, starting to date us the week before a furlough."

"Be nice, Doktor. Was difficult thing for little Scout."

"Yeah, I'll try an' time my freakin' breakdowns more conveniently for ya, Doc," Scout grumbled, but there was a smile in it. For all the teasing, it was true. They had just begun, and now they had to be apart because of a holiday that his boyfriends didn't even celebrate.

Boyfriends. Even thinking the word sent a giddy chill through Scout. He still couldn't believe it.

"Gut. Be more considerate, Scout," Medic laughed. He pressed a gentle kiss to the faun's pointed ear. "Make sure to call while you are away, however. We will miss you dearly."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll try. Maybe next year you two can come with, after I warm Ma up to the idea. I think one big surprise a year is enough, yanno?"

"You are going to show her, then?" Heavy asked.

"I—I think so. I dunno. I feel like I should, yanno?"

"Whatever you decide, we are here for you if you need us," Medic assured his younger lover.

"I mean, she took it real well when I told her about bein' pan, right? 'Cause, I know ever since Australia legalized queer marriage an' adoption an' stuff, then the U.S. did, folks've come around to it." Scout shrugged a bit. "Plus after Lou came out, a lot 'a the shock was gone for Ma."

"Lou?" Medic quirked his eyebrow.

"Louis, my middle brother. Got a husband 'n everything. No kids, though. They're dinks," the faun shrugged, not explaining the slang.

Heavy shook with soft laughter, having grown quiet as Medic and Scout chatted. A soft snuffling chuckle escaped him, much to the confusion of his lovers.

Scout tilted up as much as his antlers would allow, craning to see the giant's face. "What's so funny?"

"Just thought it is perfect. You are pansexual, da?"

"...yeah?"

"It makes sense that _faun_ is _pan_!"

Scout and Medic stared at the snickering Russian for a long moment, their faces masks of utter exasperation. They both sighed, and the faun looked to his older lover as if to ask 'what the hell?'

"Do not look at me," Medic mumbled. "He is _your_ boyfriend."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving his lovers to go see his family is hard enough, but the impending doom of telling his family about his new form has Scout on edge for an eight hour plane ride and more, when all he really wants is to hear his lovers' voices. Six months ago he would have never thought he'd end up uncomfortable in the skin he'd grown up in.

Goodbyes were hard enough. Scout hated goodbyes, and bidding the team farewell as they dispersed for the week for the American holiday was bittersweet at best. At least he was heading somewhere he'd still be surrounded by loud rowdy jerks who fought all the time. Saying goodbye to Heavy and Medic was even harder, the two older men just as unwilling to part with him. It was difficult to end their last, long hug in time for him to catch his flight.

He'd promised to give them a call once he got to his hotel room, and again in the morning before heading out, then again after he'd gotten back from his Ma's house, after seeing his family. He was grateful that he'd been afforded the chance to lodge alone, the sheer number of family members in town making the house too overcrowded to reasonably shoehorn him into a spare bed. It certainly made him less nervous about dropping his illusion to sleep. He was nervous about all of it, really, and was sure his hotel bed would be entirely too big and empty without Heavy's arms and Medic's wings wrapped tightly around him. He tried not to think about it, and turn his thoughts toward anticipation of seeing his loved ones again.

The plane was quiet, and Scout was flying first class, not wanting to be bothered as he worked himself slowly into a bundle of nerves and bouncing heels, hemming and hawing on how he would tell his Ma what he'd become, when he'd tell her, whether he'd tell her. He'd told Heavy and Medic that he intended to reveal himself, but with every mile of America the airliner crossed, he was less and less sure of his resolve, considering that perhaps spending his time around the family magically disguised would, instead, be smarter.

His disguise was perfect, well-practiced magic holding his shape as the handsome, lean human he'd known himself to be. He could maintain it around the family, no problem, and they would be none the wiser. They didn't _need_ to know he was a near-immortal faerie creature, right? It's not like it was unusual that he'd likely outlive them all unless a violent end caught him outside of respawn range. Or that he had ceased aging. Scout sighed, trying to push that niggling thought and its implications away.

He knew his nature would have to come out eventually, but that didn't mean he wanted it to, or to deal with it when it did. Maybe once he was more comfortable in his new skin? He'd only been a faun for a little under six months. It's not like he had the ropes down or anything. Maybe he could just push it off for a while. Not worry about it this year. Maybe next year.

Scout frowned, looking out the window at the landscape passing below, and leaned his head against the wall. His antlers weren't there, so they weren't in the way, and it took him a moment to situate himself comfortably, forgetting at first that he didn't have to worry about the obstruction. How disheartening, to feel alien in a skin he'd worn for twenty four years of his life. It felt strange wearing shoes and having proper toes again, though he tried not to think too much about it, or how uncomfortable underwear and pants suddenly were. How the hell did he handle wearing all this shit all the time? He missed his loin cloths and jock straps.

Everything would be fine. He'd see his Ma again, give her a big hug and a kiss, talk about work, tell a few funny stories, shoot the shit with his brothers, hug his nieces and nephews, and stuff himself while the game was on the TV and nobody paid attention to it. Then he'd slip back to the hotel, slide back into his normal shape, and give Medic and Heavy a call, tell them how much he missed them.

Man, did he miss them already.

Scout had been amazed how quickly longing had turned into a need. These feelings that had grown in his heart, now out in the open, now reciprocated, had taken root so deeply he felt incomplete without his lovers by his side. How much worse would it be if he ever worked up the nerve to tell the rest of the team?

And what about when their contracts ended? Or if the war, somehow, came to a close? What then?

A flight attendant passed by on her way from the cockpit, and Scout snapped to attention, flagging the pretty woman down. "Miss? 'Scuse me?"

She stopped, smiling delicately. She was a petite thing with glasses perched in front of pale eyes and dark hair in a bun. In her collared dress, she reminded him of Miss Pauling, and he couldn't hold back a smile at the lovely young lady.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"Heya." He resisted the urge to flirt. She was on the clock, after all. "Y'think I could get a drink? This ain't a dry flight, is it?"

"Of course not, sir. What can I get you?"

"Uh, yanno, how about simple? Vodka, orange juice. Screwdriver?"

"Certainly, sir," the attendant smiled, striding away with purpose down the aisle, sparing a glance back at Scout. The baby-faced young man had spend most of the flight looking mournfully out the window like he had the world on his shoulders. She felt sorry for him. Whatever was bothering him was clearly important, at least to him.

Scout returned his attention to the window as he waited, trying to keep his damn thoughts under control. Quit dwelling, quit supposing, quit mooning over the guys. It'll be a week. He could do this, no sweat. Besides, there were very important, very good things to come. Namely, Ma's famous candied yams with pecans.

 

*

 

Around ten at night, Scout finally slipped through the door of his hotel room, bags in hand, bleary-eyed. He could never quite grasp how sitting down for eight hours could be so exhausting. Locking the door behind him, he dragged his stuff over to the dresser, dropped it on the floor, and kicked off his shoes. He tipped off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, short and tightly cut in his disguise, as he'd always worn it, and took a deep breath. He dropped his hat on the small table in one corner and sat on the edge of the bed. He tugged his socks off, tossing them into a small pile with his shoes. His pants, underwear, and shirt soon joined them, and finally free of his constraints, Scout let the magic disperse. In a shower of white pinpricks of light sloughing off of him like water poured from above, his antlers reappeared, his hair was back to being shaggy and untrimmed and starting to fall over his forehead, and his lower body was cervine once again.

Scout stretched his legs, wiggling the single toe on each foot with its hard, cloven nail and two small dewclaws. He scratched through the fur on his thighs and smiled a bit. It was strange, how comfortable he'd become in his new shape. But here it was. It felt more natural than anything else, at this point. He looked into the beside mirror and checked himself out. It didn't hurt that he was cute as hell like this.

"Yeah, I'd fuck me," he mused with a wink at his reflection, then flopped back onto the bed, spreading his arms and just letting the soft mattress hold him down for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He felt weighty and sore, stuck in pretty much the same position for hours, and he was pent up, full of energy. He wished Heavy and Medic were there to give him a workout. He wasn't sure how he'd survive a week without them, without any of the team, but he was sure he'd be fine. They'd given him a few good times to leave on, so he shouldn't get too hungry.

Lonely, though. That one was trickier.

Scout swam his way up the bed, shimmying his shoulders and hips until he reached as close to the headboard as he could manage with his antlers, and rolled onto his side to face the nightstand. A telephone sat there, along with an alarm clock, lamp, and a little booklet with room service information. He wondered what would happen if he, a faerie, were to touch the Gideon bible that was sure to have sat in the drawer of the night stand. Thinking better, he tugged the phone's handset from the cradle and tucked it between his shoulder and ear, then punched in a number. He rolled back onto his back as he listened to the rings, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Come on..."

Finally, the ringing ceased with a soft clack of plastic, and a deep, gravelly voice answered, "Allo."

"Heavy?" Scout wasn't sure why it was a question. The giant's voice was unmistakable, and immediately his mood brightened.

Heavy sounded just as happy to hear him, "Little Scout! How are you? How was flight?"

"It was long as hell, but pretty good. Ended up gettin' sauced for the last couple hours," the faun laughed softly, sure his smile audible in his words.

"You are okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. At the hotel now, just tired. Maybe a little worked up, yanno. Figure I'll hang out, order some room service, maybe jerk off and get some serious sleep. Flyin' East always messes me up. It's like bed time already here."

"Eight hours on plane and time zones make it confusing," Heavy agreed.

"It's like time travel except it sucks," Scout chuckled, shifting a bit to get comfortable, tugging the tucked blankets from under himself and slipping under them. "Goin' into the future at the speed 'a regular time."

Heavy chuckled at that. "Is stupid magic."

"I'll say. So what'cha two up to?"

"Doktor is making dinner. Am reading. Has been quiet today, except for Archimedes will not leave rafters. He likes cabin. Many high places for him to hide."

"You keep callin' that thing a cabin. I seen it, big guy. It's a log mansion."

"Is not so big."

"Babe, your concept of big--"

"Is that Scout?" Medic's voice called.

"Da, he is at hotel," Heavy replied, away from the reciever. He returned to proper volume, "Little Scout, would you like to talk to Doktor?"

"Sure, big guy."

There was a soft shuffling, then Medic's voice came through, clear as a bell, "Hallo, Scout! How was your flight?"

"Hey Doc." Scout's greeting was warm, and he let his eyes flutter closed. Medic sounded so excited. "I'm good. Flight was long an' borin', like usual. I'm at the hotel now. Bed's all big an' empty all alone."

"We'll make sure to have you in our room every night until Smissmas furlough when you get back. Even if we have to go carry you out of someone else's room," the doctor teased, Heavy chuckling and agreeing in the background.

"Sounds great," the faun sighed, dreamily.

"I miss you, Spatz," Medic cooed, somewhat sadly.

"I miss you too, Doc," Scout sighed, his heart fluttering. Medic had said it first. He shouldn't be so gooey about his boyfriend saying it, but it made the faun feel light and giddy.

"You have a good night. Get some sleep, eat a good breakfast, und viel glück with your family, mein kleine Hirschjunge."

"I'll try, Doc."  
  
"Gut. I'm giving the phone back to Heavy now. I have dinner on the stove. Guten Nacht!"

"Night!" Scout replied, listening as the phone was handed back over. "Heav?"

"I am here."

"How long 'til you gotta go for dinner?" The faun bit at his lip, one hand settling atop his belly and beginning to drift lower.

"A little while, maybe."

"Any chance you could gimme a hand with that whole jerkin' off part 'a my plan for the night?"

Scout's hopeful grin was practically audible, and infectious, spreading to Heavy's lips. "Thought you were calling room service first?"

"I think I can move a few things around on my schedule an' fit you in."

"Know very well that you can _fit me in_ ," the giant teased.

"I sure love tryin'," the faun chuckled, a rough edge to his voice. "So, talk to me. Tell me what you're gonna do to me when I get home."

"Oh," Heavy began, a shuffle on his side of the line likely betraying him sitting down, "this, I can do. First, I will dress you and Doktor in pretty, lacy panties..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to voxmyriad for beta.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout arrives home for Thanksgiving and spends time with his family, catching up with his Ma. They share stories, reminisce, and as a consequence, she learns something very, very important about her baby son. Much to Scout's own surprise.

"You can do this. You can do this. You _can do_ this," Scout repeated to himself, bouncing on his toes, on the doorstep of the house where he'd grown up, where his Ma lived, where, up until almost two years ago, he'd called home. He kept having to remind himself to stand with his heels on the ground. Human feet. Flat feet. Stand on the whole damn foot, for fuck's sake.

He was dressed nicely, his hair combed, his shoes shined, and he wore his nicest, crispest trousers and a dress shirt with a blue sweatervest over top. He was the perfect image of a good son, presenting a very convincing facade. He held two bottles of wine tucked under his arm.

Bringing something to Thanksgiving had always been the tradition, but in his Ma's household, bringing food would get you whacked with a wooden spoon for the the insulting insinuation that she would be unable to make and provide enough food for all in attendance. Desserts had a similar reputation, mostly because Ma was very proud of having taught Emmanuel how to make her pie crust, and he had been deputized for that very duty ever since. Bringing dessert insulted both of them.

Wine, however. Wine, everyone could enjoy, and often did. Especially Ma, who had managed to wedge herself into the task of feeding a small army of eight sons, their spouses, and their children by virtue of her own pride. So wine it was. Almost everyone brought drinks, and often tried to out-do one another. Scout, with his mercenary's salary and resources, had taken the crown away from union carpenter Martin last Thanksgiving, during his first year of employment under Builder's League United. It had been a particular achievement since Scout had been the first one to do it in a good five years, since Martin dethroned Louis.

Scout's real secret was getting recommendations from Spy. If anyone knew a good vintage, it was that intentionally pretentious wino. It didn't hurt that the guy apparently had a few thousand years of experience under his belt in getting tanked off of fermented things. So it happened that Scout had found himself tracking down and toting along a bottle of pinot noir as old as he was that came with a certificate identifying its process down to the specific barrel it was aged in, and a bottle of umeshu that the grinning kitsune had assured him was "like liquid candy", and more appropriate for the faun's unrefined palate.

He'd taken umbrage at that, of course, the admission sounding like an insult, but Spy had been quick to assure him it simply meant he wasn't experienced and likely disinterested in subjecting himself to heavy tannins long enough to aquire a taste for headier reds and appreciate their finer flavours. Having taken a few swigs of the stuff Spy passed off as refined, Scout had been inclined to agree.

Scout fidgeted a bit with his bottles, and his sweater vest, and his hair, remembering that he could swipe his hand across his head without being halted by branches of bone poking out of it. He licked at his teeth to make sure there was no breakfast clinging to them, took a deep breath. He'd only been standing outside for a few minutes. Not awkward or anything, nope.

_You can do this._

He knocked.

A chorus of rowdy voices from inside signified he'd been heard, followed by the hurried patter of a herd of small feet and squeals of joy. Scout set down the wine beside the door and knelt down in anticipation. He knew what this meant.

The door flung open wide, and eleven faces beamed at him in concert before he was rushed in a flailing tangle of bodies and limbs and cheers of, "UNCLE BUCKY!"

Scout was bowled over onto his back, a crowd of nieces and nephews perched on him, giving him hugs and messing up his hair and asking him rapid-fire questions on top of one another to the point where he couldn't even make sense of the din. Dimly, he registered the sound of two small, barking dogs nearby. "Hey everybody!" he greeted with a wide grin.

Seven brothers guaranteed a huge array of children scampering around, all gangly and loud and chatty just like the rest of the family, and Scout couldn't be happier to see the little ones. He'd long accepted he wasn't likely to have any of his own. His violent profession combined with his absolutely dismal luck at even getting a date from anyone owning a uterus virtually guaranteed a lack of reproductive options in his future. Doubly so when dating two men twice his age. He didn't mind, however. It meant he got to keep his money and hobbies, but got to spoil the hell out of his brothers' kids. Plus, it had long been a favourite prank of his to fill the little ones with ice cream and soda and send them, hyperactive and crowing about their favourite uncle, back to their parents to deal with.

It had earned him more than a few slugs in the arm from their aggravated fathers, and a few of their mothers.

"You guys, come on, let the guy get _in the door_ before you cover 'im in dirt an' make 'im look like 'e normally does!" came chuckling voice from somewhere above and behind the mass of excited children.

They parted quickly, a chorus of grumbles accompanying their egress and leaving instead the grinning face of a young man standing over him, his sandy brown hair parted on one side and combed back, glasses perched on his round face. He was more broadly built than Scout, with warm brown eyes and small creases at their corners from squinting and smiling. He offered a hand to the flattened mercenary, "Happy thanksgivin', Bucky!"

Scout took the offered hand and climbed to his feet, dusting off his clothes. "Joe, figured it was you. You brought the dogs?"

"Couldn't find dogsitters for 'em. You alright, man? The kids got you good. Little shits've been on their game today. You shoulda seen how fast they took down Wally when he an' Lou got 'ere."

"Wally's been part 'a this family for, what, three years? Guy should know how to brace for impact by now," Scout chuckled, fixing his hair.

"Yeah, well, Lou was in front, so 'e didn't think 'e had to brace. Door opened, Lou jumped out the way like a shot an' let the husband take the brunt, the shit."

"What an asshole!" The two brothers laughed as they walked into the house, each snatching up a bottle of wine to bring in.

"You know how Lou is with kids," Joe chuckled, closing the door behind them.

Stepping in from the vestibule, Scout was rewarded with a cry of, "BUCKY!" from all assembled in his mother's living room. Seven other men—six of them his brothers—and four women all raised their glasses in greeting, piled onto couches and chairs, a few spouses sitting beside their partners, others chatting in the adjoining dining room.

The warm savor of roasting meat filled the house, and the low din of a football game nobody cared about buzzed away on the television. The coffee table was filled with a few plates of nicely arranged carrots and broccoli and other assorted hors d'oeuvres that were being slowly picked at by the adults and occasionally ravaged by the children, speeding around the house. It was at once nostalgic and entirely comfortable, a rowdy noise Scout felt perfectly at home in, yet all the same he felt a few pangs for the rowdy noise of the mercs around the base. It made so much sense, really, he'd always been used to the noise and the crowding. It was the most natural thing in the world to him, and he smiled wide, missing the people he loved back on base and elated to see his loved ones here. He quicklyswept into the room to offer hugs to any and everyone he could reach.

"Brought wine," a shorter brother observed with a smirk, his face round like Joe's. His dark hair was cropped close against the sides, longer on top and combed to present a dramatic visage. He wore thick-rimmed glasses in front of dark eyes, and was smartly dressed in stylish pastels. He held a cane loosely in one hand, twisting it about. "Gonna grind Marty into the dirt again?"

"You know 'e ain't recovered from last year," agreed a brother laying on the sill of the room's bay window. He looked exactly like the one with the cropped hair, his own hair styled longer, falling rakishly across his forehead, his clothing darker and with a much less polished style to it.

"I'm diggin' all the shit-talk over there," the oldest, Martin, grumbled. His blue eyes rolled dramatically and finally settled on Scout with a wry smile.

A woman with long, chestnut-brown hair sat beside him on the armrest of his chair, and scratched gently through his shaggy dark hair, her wedding ring catching the sun's glint. "Aw, come on, Marty..."

"The twins're right, Jen, don't 'aw Marty' about it," Joe chuckled.

A brother with sandy hair leaned over and patted Marty on the arm, tossing his head to get the bangs of his painfully mod haircut out of his eyes. "Pssh, don't listen to Alex an' Yancy. They're just jealous they never won the Wine War yet."

"You ain't won it either, Reggie!" Alex shot back, gripping his cane tight.

"I know a losin' battle when I see one, man. I know better'n that."

"I dunno, you guys, I think I might've got a secret weapon, this year," bragged a somewhat more muscular brother, his shaggy, light hair tugged into as presentable a ponytail as it could be, though stray hairs conspired to escape the taming around his temples and forehead. He sat on the floor, leaning back against the leg of a taller, broader man seated in a chair behind him, looking utterly amused at the ensuing shit-talk. The brother's blue eyes were bright, eyebrows tilted in conspiratorially. "Me an' Wally hit up a winery direct, an' I even got a some mead for the occasion. Like the vikings drank an' shit."

"Oh yeah, Lou. A bunch 'a Irish vikings, that's us," the last brother, tallest of the lot, teased, reaching out to grab a piece of broccoli from the coffee table.

"Manny, if you wanna go, you fuckin' say the word an' well go, bro."

"You ain't got the balls."

"You ain't _gonna have_ balls in a minute!"

"Yo, I call ref!" Yancy cheered, sitting up with a grin.

"You assholes go ahead an' tear eachother apart. I'm gonna go win this shit again, sound good?" Scout grinned, tossing a wink to Marty.

"Yeah, keep talkin', Bucky. Maybe you'll convince someone," Joe teased.

"Oh, ye of little faith. And brains. Especially brains. Mostly brains, actually."

Joe slugged Scout in the arm. "Dick."

Scout shook his arm out and chuckled, miming doffing a hat, "Bucky. Nice to meet'cha, Dick."

The mercenary plucked his second bottle from Joe's arms and headed for kitchen, double-checking his hair along the way. The sounds of chopping and humming came down the short hall between rooms, the enchanting scent of cooking food growing stronger, joined by spices and the fresh aromas of vegetables being chopped. Scout's smile softened. Of course she was doing all of this alone. Manny had made the pies the night before, like he always did, but her cooking assistant had yet to arrive. At least, until now.

"Someone call for a sous chef?" Scout called, stepping into the kitchen with a wide grin. He set the wine on the nearest counter and prepared for the full-on mom-assault he'd surely recieve.

His Ma perked up immediately, setting down her knife on the cutting board and whirling around, apron covered in little stains and splatters. She wore a stylish blue dress, with her hair done up in was her favourite style, though her shoes had long ago been lost and she stood in her stockings on the sealed wood floor, a run already starting at her heel. She even had her big earrings in, making her best effort to dress up for the holiday, slaving away in the kitchen or no. She smiled broadly on seeing Scout, throwing her arms out and dashing to her son, sweeping him up in a big hug with a squeal of joy.

"Ohhhh, my baby boy! My little Scooter Pie! I missed you _so much_!" she cheered, clutching him close.

Scout returned the hug with gusto, squeezing the slim woman tightly and replying warmly, "I missed you too, Ma. It's been a hell of a year. I'm sorry I didn't make it home as much as last year."

"Don't worry about it, Scooter; I'm just glad you're home now. Wish you'd gotten here earlier, though. I been sweatin' all day without my kitchen buddy," she teased, pulling back to look her youngest son up and down. "Lookit you! My little baby's grown up so fast!"  
"Ma, I'm twenty-four."

"You're my little baby an' you're growin' up too fast," she corrected matter-of-factly with a laugh. "So handsome, just like your pops."

"Ma, I look way more like you than Pops. Lou looks just like Pops," Scout chuckled, releasing his ma and heading to the pantry to fetch one of the aprons hanging on the wall.

"You all look like your pops," she sighed.

Silence fell for a short moment, melancholy settling in with memories and regrets.

"I miss 'im," Ma murmured, swallowing hard.

"I know. I miss 'im too," Scout assured her, tucking his apron over one elbow and wrapping his arms back around his mother. She seemed so small, so frail in these moments, and it broke the young man's heart. The heart attack had been a long time ago, now. He'd lost a father. She'd lost the love of her life. He never could grasp how she'd managed to raise all of them after that, how she'd been so brave to soldier on.

An invasive little thought reminded Scout that he was immortal. That very likely someday he'd bury this important woman, all of the men in the other room, all of the children who had tackled him at the door... He took a very deep breath at that notion.

"It never gets easier. You just get used to it," Ma grunted, trying to steel herself. "I'm sorry, Scooter, this is a terrible way to greet my baby boy. I been in here all alone too long today. Too much time to think about shitty stuff, yanno?" She pulled out of the hug, and Scout let her go. Wiping her eyes carefully with a corner of her apron, taking pains not to mess up her makeup, she inhaled deeply, and set her shoulders. "So, you ready? 'Cause I'm gonna put you to work."

Scout tied his apron on, his smile returning. "Yes ma'am!"

"Good. Celery and onions're over there. Get to choppin' for this stuffing," she ordered, returning to hacking up peeled sweet potatoes into tiny pieces for easy boiling.

"Got it!" Poking about a bit for the offending veggies, Scout tugged a cutting board from a cabinet, yanked a knife from the block sitting on the counter, and took the sharpening steel it held as well. The cutting board in place, he set to honing the blade, dragging the knife across the steel in long strokes. The metallic scrape filled the kitchen alongside Ma's chopping, and the older woman shook her head.

"Actin' like I don't keep my knives sharp."

"When's the last time you sharpened 'em, huh?"

"Lou did it for me last week!"

"Lou, huh? Well then shit, what am I doin' this for, then? Freakin' butcher boy prob'ly has 'em so sharp they could split hairs. You might wanna put on one 'a them chainmail gloves 'e uses at work, Ma."

Ma chuckled, "You be quiet, I seen what you do to cleavers whenever you get your mitts on 'em. Lemme guess, though. You don't take any care 'a your work stuff, just like your stuff for baseball when you were in school. You still swingin' that dented piece 'a shit bat you showed me last year?"

Scout set down the steel and wiped the metal shavings from his knife on his apron. "Maybe."

"What about that wooden bat? You still usin' that one? The one you freakin' _taped together_ after you cracked it?"

The Sandman. Shit, she totally had him. "Uh, well, y'see..."

"You're awful," Ma laughed. "I remember that catcher's mitt you used until I made you use your summer job money for a new one. Looked like you were tryin' to catch pop flies with a lump 'a hamburger."

"It worked just fine," Scout countered, sticking out his tongue at her. "Besides, that money was for the electric bill."

Ma smiled, sadly, casting a sidelong glance to her little boy. "I know, Scooter." Her voice was soft, grateful, the fight gone out of it.

That awkward silence fell again. Holidays were always weird. It'd been a good eighteen years since Pops had passed away. But time never closed the hole that his death had left in the space of that house. It just kept the thing hidden until the holidays reared their ugly head. Thanksgiving, Smissmas, Easter, all of the big ones that would see the broad-shouldered, sandy-haired man, with his smart mouth and twinkling brown eyes, telling stories and sharing time with everyone. He would sneak tastes of the turkey's skin or pick at the ham, and was an absolute fiend when it came to mashed potatoes.

Now, instead, the silence was filled with chattering wives and screaming children. Pops would have loved every last one of them, and given each an utterly nonsense nickname. Like Scooter.

Or Bucky. That had been Lou's contribution, a combination of his love of superhero comics and a jab at his little brother's overbite.

Scout cleared his throat, trying to dispell the sadness that had settled in, and began to work. "So, uh, speakin' a' my bats an' stuff, work's goin' good," the mercenary began, cleaning stalks of celery and chopping them into little semi-circles. "We been winnin' a lot 'a matches lately."

"I still don't get how that war works. You're like nine-to-five punch-clock murderers," Ma teased, dumping the sweet potatoes in a large pot in the sink and setting into yet more.

"Pretty much," Scout shrugged.

"So how's that team you're workin' with? Still a bunch 'a rowdy assholes?" Ma chuckled. From Scout's previous descriptions it certainly sounded a lot like her son's home life. It was no wonder that he'd taken to it like a fish to water.

"Yeah, it's pretty great. The guys are amazin'. We even took a road trip over summer furlough. 'S why I couldn't come home. Ended up goin' to Europe an' just drivin' around seein' sights in this crazy bus Sniper got hold 'a."

"Oh yeah, I remember the post card you sent, with the picture 'a you all in front 'a Saint Mark's! You all looked like a band 'a hoodlums! Oh, and the one in the mask! He's your spy, right? He looks so much like Lucien, it's uncanny!"

Scout rankled at that. She had to bring up her boyfriend, the asshole in the red balaclava. His name probably wasn't even Lucien. He was tempted to express his surprise that the RED Spy hadn't been invited to dinner, but thought better of even planting the idea. "Ours is a lot hotter. Plus he's actually a good guy if you don't piss 'im off. But yeah, we all look alike, I guess. Ain't sure why, really."

Ma frowned, realizing her misstep. Scout had never quite approved of any of her boyfriends, but Lucien had been specifically a disaster in that regard. Dating a man hired by the company directly opposing her son's in an armed conflict had not been a decision likely to produce peaceful interactions between the various men in her life. She quickly pumped the brakes and steered the subject. "The older gentleman with the glasses is one serious looker, though."

"The Doc?" Scout grinned inwardly, glad for the shift of topic. "He's _definitely_ a looker. You should see 'im in shorts. Doc runs with me most days, an' he's almost as fast. He's got great gams."

"You got your ma's taste in men. Honestly they're all handsome. Especially the skinny one with the baseball cap," Ma teased, shooting her son a grin.

"Aww, Ma," the mercenary drawled in mock embarrassment.

"I guess Builder's League United just likes hiring all the eye candy. Bet the boss lady has a field day when she visits, don't she?"

Scout shrugged. "Nah, not really. She's all business. I used to flirt with her all the time. I mean, I still do, but I used to, too," he joked. "She ain't interested. Like, in anyone, I think. From what I hear the other team's scout is head over heels for 'er. Poor sap."

"Guess they'd have to hire someone disinterested if she's gonna be around all those guys all the time," Ma teased. "I dunno how you keep your hands to yourself."

"Aw come on, Ma!" Scout's nose crinkled in disgust. It didn't matter if it was blatantly true that he had, in fact, not kept his hands to himself; he didn't want his mother talking about such things.

"I'm just sayin', you know they make good money. Plus, where else are you gonna find someone who already knows you killed people, seen you do it, and does it themselves?" Ma teased.

"You are _way_ too okay with my line 'a work," the mercenary laughed.

"Yeah, well, if I hadn't gotten knocked up with Marty I'd be _in_ that line 'a work. Me an' your pop did jobs together all the time. But you know how your grandad was. School first, killin' guys with a crowbar second. Then Marty happened. And I don't regret a thing," Ma explained with a smile.

Scout had heard the story several times before. She'd been so proud when she'd found out her son was going to be using his street fighting skills for a professional career rather than a criminal record, though technically because of his professional career he had a criminal record. Well, a bigger one than he already had. But exorbitant amounts of blood money tended to help fix that problem.

And he'd seen his mother fight before. Mostly other moms at baseball games, but once in a while he'd seen her unload on attempted muggers or street toughs who'd gone in against the wrong son at the wrong time. She could've made an amazing living as a merc. For the sake of having been born, though, he was glad she'd taken the family route instead.

Scout set aside his pile of celery and got to work on the onions, letting a comfortable quiet settle in for once, the only sound from either of them the humming as Ma worked on the sweet potatoes. It was nice, being in the kitchen by her side, helping her with dinner. Ever since he'd been old enough to hold a knife, he'd been her helper with meals. While his other brothers were out playing, or doing chores, or raising some sort of hell, he'd be by her side, helping with meals.

It was little things at first. Peeling potatoes and carrots on the floor, seated in front of a day-old page of newspaper to catch the peelings, slowly removing skins from vegetables as she worked and sang, her slightly adenoidal alto self-consciously quiet in the noisy room.

But when she would kneel beside him and pick up the fruits of his labour, the pot full of peeled veggies, she would sing to him, full of confidence, as she wrapped one arm around her son and pressed a kiss to his temple, leaving a lipstick mark for him to scrub furiously at. She'd chuckle and return to her work, singing half to him, as she found another task for him to help with.

She called him her little sous chef.

A smile crept across Scout's face as he realized what Ma was humming, and he joined in, digging the sharp blade of his knife into fat onions and reducing them to tiny squares of pungent yellow, the smell hanging in the air and threatening to make his eyes water if he leaned too close.

That song brought him back, high notes at the beginning in an easy, casual tone. He knew it well. It began with horns, and eased into soft drums, violins, and tinkling piano. He'd heard it more times than he could count on Ma's record player.

But he'd heard it even more in her voice, cracking at the highs as she hummed. She'd sing it often: "I'll Get By", by Harry James and his Orchestra. She called it her favourite song. He remembered how Pop would sing it to her, during those times when they were alone enough to wrap their arms around one another and slow-dance without interruption. When they would embrace and smile, giddy as teenagers, foreheads pressed together and swaying in circles. And she'd sing it to her sons. She'd sing it to Scout.

And after Pops died, Scout would sing it to her.

All of a sudden, it was like he was that little boy peeling potatoes on the floor again. He remembered the first time Ma had him cutting veggies, standing on a chair to reach the counter, carefully, slowly, meticulously cutting up celery and carrots, or slicing beets, or chopping cabbage. She would sing as she worked beside him, smiling over to her helpful little boy in his hand-me-down baseball cap and grass-stained shirt and gravel-torn trousers.

All of a sudden, they were waiting for Pops to come home, working together to make everyone dinner, his mother's voice echoing in his ears, singing an alto version of Dick Haymes' vocal style.

_I'll get by as long as I have you._

_There may be rain and darkness too._

_I won't complain._

_I'll see it through._

Ma was singing, and before Scout realized it, he was, too. Meeting her note for note, singing the first song he ever learned, there in that very kitchen, smiling fondly down at the onion as he chopped at it.

She was smiling, too. Finishing up the sweet potatoes and turning the water on to fill the pot, Ma lifted her voice to join her son in earnest. Scout had always had such a lovely singing voice, just like his father.

Scout let the music flow through him, the lyrics coming out like second nature, his body swaying to the tune in his head. He could remember all of the instrumentation perfectly, because in his mind, it was the soundtrack of his childhood, of his mother, of being her baby boy, when things were so much less complicated.

 _But what care I_?

_Say, I'll get by._

_As long as I have you._

Scout held the note, his voice wavering pleasantly, until he was interrupted by a horrified shriek.

Before he could react, Scout was slammed against the wall, a chef's knife still slick from sweet potato juice pressed to his throat, ready to bite into his heated flesh. He was dizzy a moment, the back of his head bouncing off of the wall, his vision taking its time to focus in on the snarling face of his beloved mother, inches below his own, with azure flames blazing in her eyes. One slim, strong hand held his shoulder, pushing him against the wall, as the other gripped the knife with purpose. Her stance was square, her breath coming in deep, heavy puffs.

A glance aside caught his reflection in the window, antlers and all. He'd lost the minor modicum of concentration he had to maintain, and his spell was gone.

Well, shit.

"Now I'm gonna ask you this exactly one time. What the fuck are you, and what have you done with my baby boy?"

"Wh--"

"I ain't gonna ask again. You know what 'e looks like, how 'e acts, who 'e works with. You fooled every damn one 'a us. I dunno what kinda demon you are, but you ain't comin' into my house, wearin' my baby's face, an' leavin' alive, you _fuck_ ," Ma breathed, her voice steady, low, viciously threatening.

Scout could see the glint in her eye, the bite of metal against his skin. Maybe trying to keep a secret like this, poorly, from a woman with as many assaults on her record as she did, was unwise. He swallowed hard, eyes wide, locked on hers. One false move would end in filicide.

"Ma, you--"

"Don't you Ma me, you monster. Answer the questions."

Venom practically dripped from her lips. Best do as she said.

"I'm a faun, an' I am your baby boy."

"You wanna repeat that and make some sense?"

Panic rose in Scout's mind, and furrowed his brow a little, trying to collect his thoughts into a coherent explanation. He only had one shot at this. Otherwise, his own mother was going to murder him in her kitchen on Thanksgiving. He could feel sweat bead at his temples. "I'm a faun. I'm kinda like a faerie, like satyrs, only outta Roman mythology. An' I am your baby boy. I'm me, your son, Ma. It's me, I swear. I got turned into this, but I'm still me," he expanded, breath stuttering as confusion entered her eyes. Confusion was natural, but also bad. Anger, he could understand. Anger, he could predict. Confusion left him just as adrift as her, and there was no telling what she'd do. All the same, he kept his arms at his side, not making any sudden movements.

Apprehension pulled Ma’s blade from Scout’s flesh, but apprehension kept it at the ready. Her breath came more shakily, and but she remained tight as a bowstring, ready to strike the second she didn’t like what she heard. She measured her words carefully, "So you're my son. You're Scooter, but you're a...a faun? My son's a fairy."

A nervous smile crept onto Scout's lips. "Well yeah but why you bringin' up Lou for?"

Ma's lip quivered at the stupid joke, and she bit back a laugh, but he could see her straining against it.

"But yeah. I, uh, something _happened_ , an' I been meanin' to tell you. I wanted to tell you. This, uh, this ain't how I wanted you to find out. Preferably during a conversation, maybe a couple glasses 'a wine, without a knife in your hand, yanno?" Scout swallowed again.

"Scooter..." Ma frowned, and chewed at her lip. The fight had gone out of her, and Scout could tell by the hunch of her shoulders, the weakness of her grip on him. He didn’t move.

"I'm sorry, Ma. I didn't mean to scare you. I was tryin' to wait, but I gotta kinda pay attention to hide it, an' I got distracted. I—"

"It's really you?"

"It's me, Ma. I promise. Hand to God."

"What _happened_?" she asked, stepping back and letting her son relax. She set her knife down on the counter, next to where Scout's had clattered when she'd grabbed him. She crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing idly at one bicep with her fingertips.

"I, uh, remember how I said I visited Europe this summer?" Scout sighed, unsure how to even go about this. He stepped out of his shoes, now entirely too large for him, and kicked off his similarly oversized socks, hooves clicking on the hardwood floor. Her eyes were drawn to them, wide circles of blue with pin-prick pupils. "I, sorta, kinda, ended up coming back not...human, anymore." The faun scratched at the back of his head, his untrimmed hair falling about his forehead and ears, far from the clean-cut visage he'd attempted to present. His trousers wrinkled as they bent around his unguligrade legs.

Her voice wavered, crackling a little, eyes growing moist. "How?"

"I, uh," Scout fidgeted a bit with his trousers, "on the roadtrip. We visited Greece. Me an' the guys were drinkin', an' I met this guy, Arsenios. Me an' him went out in the woods, hung out, an' he brought some some kinda spiced wine. Apparently it was magic, and turned out he was a satyr in disguise. Yanno, Pan the goat god kinda thing, all horns an' hooves an' pan pipes an' shit. Well, 'e didn't have pipes on 'im but I bet 'e owned a set. Seemed the type—" the faun realized he was rambling. "Long story short, I woke up in the mornin' hung over an' like...this. Well, the antlers were tiny back then. They grow real fast. I just shed the velvet beginnin' 'a the month, an—okay see that thing you're doin' there, don't—don't do that."

Tears were welling in Ma's eyes, her lip trembling. "You're tellin' me," she sniffed, voice thick and wobbly, "that you went out drinkin' with some guy, who turned out to be a satyr, an' woke up a—what're you callin' it? A faun?"

"Yeah, a faun."

"An' this happened on your trip to Europe, like six months ago?"

Scout quirked an eyebrow. "Long about."

"An' so you been a faun this whole time an' THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT?!" Ma snarled, fear replaced with fury. She stomped one stocking foot on the wooden floor, arms stock straight at her sides, fists clenched. "When the _hell_ did you plan on tellin' me? Your own _mother_?"

"I, uh, y—y'see, I—"

"An' what happened to the asshole who did this to you?"

"Last I saw 'im was in Italy. I couldn't get 'im alone to teach 'im a lesson without gettin' arrested."

"So he got off scot free?"

"For now, at least? Believe me, I ain't happy about it, but I'd 'a gotten fired if I racked up an arrest overseas."

"That son of a bitch better hope I never find out where 'e lives or I will shove my fist up 'is ass, reach all the way up, an' rip out 'is fuckin' _tongue_!"

A disbelieving smirk quirked Scout's lip, his tight-drawn stomach beginning to relax. Of course she'd find away to turn this into being pissed off, bless her. "You'll have to get in line behind me. I call first dibs," he chuckled.

"Don't think you're off the hook, young man," she growled.

Shit.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Scout threw his arms out, "How the hell is a guy supposed to tell his mother that he's been forcibly transformed into a supernatural deer faerie in a letter?!"

"You could'a called."

" _That's_ a conversation for the _phone_?!"

"So when _were_ you gonna tell me?"

Exasperated, Scout kicked his shoes aside. "Well I sure wasn't plannin' on doin' it before dinner!"

"Well I freakin' wish you _had_!"

"Why?"

"'Cause Lou got me a _venison roast_ for this year's dinner, you dumbass!"

"Venison?!" Scout sputtered, outraged, horrified. He wasn't a deer, but that was wrong. There were some lines he couldn't cross. But more importantly, "You ain't makin' _turkey_?!"

Ma crossed her arms again, pouting. "I thought I'd try something different this year. ...plus the grocer ran out of birds before I could get one. Got in a fistfight with Mrs. McKee down the street for the last one. I shouldn't 'a worn heels to the store that day." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "She might 'a won, but that bitch is cookin' a turkey with a black eye right now."

Scout ran his hand through his hair and shifted in place a moment, neither relative meeting one another's gazes. Conversations and the television buzzed away in the living room, though the dining room chatter had gone suspiciously quiet.

"Well I mean if that's the case we're gonna need a lot more sweet potatoes than that if I ain't eatin' any meat," the faun shrugged, then ducked a thrown wicker pot holder.

"You are _such_ a little shit," Ma groused. She approached her son and gave him a short hug. "I can't believe that bastard did this to my baby. How do you even handle somethin' like this?" She held his cheeks between her hands, looking up into her youngest child's face.

"Ahh, I'm alright, Ma. It took a while to adjust, but I'm used to it now. It ain't so bad." Scout hugged her back, shaking off her hands to rest his chin on her head. "I'm even faster'n I used to be. Jump higher, too. It's great for work. Plus, I mean, it's a great conversation starter, yanno? Ask a girl if she wants to compare racks, and you only get slapped about half the time," he chuckled, warmed as her shoulders shook with quiet laughter. "You okay?"

"This is...a lot to handle."

"You're tellin' me."

"So, you got antlers an' hooves. Anythin' else weird I should know about?" She looked him up and down.

"Well, the antlers, I had to grow. They were little nubs when I woke up like this." Scout ran a hand along the points of one antler, fingertip lingering at one sharp tip. "The velvet came off beginnin' 'a the month. And _that_ sucked."

"How come?"

"Well, I mean, it's skin comin' off. Lotta blood."

Ma nodded, trying not to imagine the horror. "You poor thing!"

"But other'n that? These deer legs to all the way up. Fur starts at my hips," Scout explained, stepping back and giving her a spin.

Ma's eyes traveled up from his cloven hooves, to where his hocks disappeared into his trousers. His legs bent all wrong, like he was standing in a tip-toe crouch at full height, and after he bent down to roll up his pantlegs to the knee, she gasped at the sight of his thin legs, their strong calves, the brown fur that coated them.

"It gets even better, though, up top. Check it out." The faun hurried to undo his belt, then hitched his trousers and shorts down to expose a furry hip and the white speckles that coated it down to mid-thigh.

"You've got little fawn spots!"

"Yep! I also got this," he began, turning and rucking the back of his trousers down just enough to let his tail slip out and curl up, exposing its fluffy white underside. He wagged it for good measure, making his mother squeak out a small noise of surprise.

"That. Is adorable," Ma gushed. "Can I touch it?"

"Yeah, but just the underside, 'kay? The top feels weird when people touch it," Scout nodded, half-lying. It would certainly feel weird for his _mother_ to touch him there.

She let her fingers tickle lightly through the fluffy fur of his tail, trying not to laugh for the sheer absurdity of it, then stepped back, hands coming up to clasp in front of her chin. "It's soft. Soft like a kitten's belly."

"I do get a lotta 'adorable cute thing' comparisons these days," he grinned.

Ma looked over her baby boy in amazement. It was unreal, almost. Her little baby boy, born with ten fingers and ten toes, was now a supernatural creature. He wasn't human anymore, but some faerie deer man, prancing about on cloven hooves and probably getting his antlers stuck in doorways, if she knew her son. Though she couldn't deny that his new form was absolutely precious, with his little hooves and wagging tail.

"So how do you wear pants with a tail?"

"Normally? I don't. Got some real nice loincloths tailor-made an' stuff, or I sling 'em low for work. Belt rubs like hell, though."

"Oh, no, that ain't gonna do." Ma set her hands on her hips, the wonder gone from her tone. "No son 'a mine is runnin' around with 'is pants around 'is butt like some kinda low-cost rentboy. You're in town for the week, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts, you're buyin' pants an' I'm gonna hem you some tail holes for 'em so you can be decent. I ain't lettin' you walk around lookin' sloppy, and in _this_ house, we wear pants, young man. An' when you get back to work, you send me some 'a your uniform pants so I can do the same an' send 'em back. Gonna get yourself fired, lookin' unpresentable for work like that! An' when was your last haircut?"

"It's kinda hard to cut around the antlers."  
  
"You look like a hippie."

"Reggie's got long hair! Lou's is even longer! Yancy's is almost as long as mine!"

Ma cocked out one hip, sizing her son up. "You think I don't give them shit, too?"

"Well, so long as you're fair about it," Scout laughed.

"Good. Now go tell your brothers."

"What?"

"You think _I'm_ gonna? Get your furry ass out there an' go tell your brothers. An' buckle your belt. Tail out is fine until I can get you in decent pants, but don't think I'm gonna put up with you lookin' like a slob in this house." Ma returned to the sweet potatoes, picking her knife back up. She cast a look over her shoulder, "An' put some socks on in here. I don't want you scuffin' up my hardwood floors with those hooves 'a yours, young man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to voxmyriad for beta!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ma well aware of his secret, Scout informs his siblings as to his new nature, much to the delight of his nieces and nephews. And to finally ruin an already tenuous evening, one final guest arrives for dinner.

"Well, I mean, good thing is since you grew into those teeth a little better, we got more reasons to call you Bucky now, right?" Joe chuckled, earning an annoyed grunt from his little brother. Reggie was quick to answer when he threw up a hand for a high five, their hands slapping, then each snapping their fingers and pointing to one another with a grin.

"You guys fuckin' suck," Scout pouted, crossing his furry legs awkwardly as he sat on the living room floor. All of the seats were occupied, and he wasn't about to scuff up the window sill by trying to sit with Yancy.

All eyes were on him, and it was making him antsy. He liked attention, but not being scrutinized, and Manny's wife, Maria, was looking at him like he was the most precious puppy on the planet. This was a woman who'd spent Easter teaching him how to hit on people in Spanish, who would trade barbs with him, and had known him for years, and from the look on her face, Scout couldn't stop thinking she was about to launch over and pet him and ask who was a good boy.

Which totally wasn't fair because Joe's dogs were _right there_ and clearly they were the good boys. Possibly the only ones in the house, really.

"Uncle Bucky?" one of his nieces, Marty's daughter Rachel, approached him. Her eyes were wide with wonder, the first of the children to make any sort of move aside from squeals of wonder.

"Yeah, Rach?" Scout asked, his voice softening to speak to the child. He smiled broadly to her, and sat up from his slouch a bit.

"If you're a fairy, does that mean you're magic?" she nearly whispered, coming up to look at his antlers up close.

He smiled wider. "That's right, little lady. I'm all kinds 'a magic. I'm still learnin' how to use most of it, but I can change how I look, so I come off as human again."

"Like when you got here?"

"Yup!"

"Are these real?" asked his nephew Jay, one of Manny's runts. He reached up and grabbed hold of the lowest point of one antler, pulling at his uncle's head, his tiny fingers feeling the texture of the smooth bone.

Scout bowed a bit to allow the inspection, Jay soon joined by Rachel and several of their brothers, sisters, and cousins, a small swarm of children pulling and petting at the faun's antlers in fascination. "Yeah, they're real. They're part 'a my head, an' made 'a bone."

"How do you sleep?" asked Manny's daughter, Canela.

"I gotta scoot further down from the headboard," Scout laughed, impressed by the question. "Or else I can't lay down, or in my bed at work, I catch my antlers in the bars. That ends up hurtin' pretty bad."

"Bambi!" Ben, Joe's youngest, a tiny thing halfway through his second year of life, announced, plopping down behind his uncle and grabbing hold of his tail with both hands.

Scout yelped, startled, trying to stave off the embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks as his brothers laughed. "Hey, what're you doin', little guy?"

"Bambi!" Ben replied, grinning wide and lifting his uncle's tail for emphasis. His eyes went wide when Scout wagged it in his grasp, and an elated laugh spilled from the child.

"That's right, Ben! Just like Bambi! Uncle Bucky's king a' the forest," Joe cooed, swooping in to extricate his son from his little brother, making note of Scout's appreciative glance for the gesture.

"Are you really king of the forest?" Rachel asked, her eyes wide.

"Naw, I ain't king 'a nothin'. Gotta work my way up. Right now I'm just a scout," the faun joked, a sparkle in his eye. He couldn't help the smile that followed as his niece looked on him in wonder. Her uncle could someday be king of the forest!

"Yeah, well just don't bring home no skunks or rabbits, bro," Alex snorted. "Got enough trouble with Joe's dogs."

"You leave my babies outta this!"

"I meant Frankie an' Wiener."

"So did I!" Joe huffed.

"Yeah, yeah," Scout grumbled, shooting Alex a sneer. "I work in a damn desert most 'a the time, Al. 'Sides, it ain't like that. I ain't like all animals an' stuff. Not that kinda faerie."

"Yeah, you're more like booze, partying, women, men, anything between an' outside that," Yancy joked. "If I'm rememberin' my myths right."

"Sounds about Bucky," Marty shrugged.

"In fact, you said you went out drinkin' with that satyr in the woods? _Drinkin_ '?" Lou leaned forward, a skeptical smirk on his lips.

"Can you not with the kids here?" Scout hissed, incriminating himself and earning some snickers from his brothers. "You guys are assho—"

A knock at the door interrupted the faun's insult. All eyes fell to him, and with a grumble, he urged the children away from him and stood, stretching a bit as he ambled over to the entryway, confusion knitting his brow.

Dinner was almost ready, and everyone had already arrived. Every brother, every spouse, every child was accounted for. Even the dogs were lazing at Manny's feet. With a grumble, Scout set his disguise in place, motes of white light collecting around him to wick away antlers and fur and replace cervine with human, leaving him curiously barefoot. He opened the door.

"Bonjour!" greeted the new guest, standing on the porch in a tidy suit with a crimson tie, a bottle of wine tucked in one arm and a small bouquet in the other. He was tall, gaunt, and had a good half-day's worth of stubble on his chin. Completing his outfit, he wore a dark red balaclava, which disguised his features just enough, though the faun was sure he knew what the man looked like. After all, he'd been up close and personal with that face's double enough times. The RED Spy's expression fell when he realized which of his paramour's sons had answered the door. "Oh. You."

"What the hell are you doin' here?" Scout growled.

"I was invited to dinner by my lady love, as should be obvious even to a beast such as yourself," RED Spy sniffed, his friendly demeanor having now shifted to cold superiority. "I am honestly surprised to find one such as _you_ here amongst _humans_ ," he spat.

"Funny, I'd say the same to a snake like you," the faun shot back, his grip on the doorknob tightening.

"Ah, yes, but as far as I'm aware your dear mother isn't roasting any serpents for dinner, is she?"

The door slammed in the spy's face, and he huffed, a slow clicking of hooves on wood receding from within. He tried the handle, but found it locked. "Let me in, you cervine simpleton!" He pounded on the door with his fist, bouquet shaking in his grip.

"Who's that?" Joe asked as his brother re-entered the living room, jumping at the pounding and yelling.

Scout shrugged. "Eh, no one important."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to voxmyriad for beta, and sillyscrunchy for the line about growing into Scout's teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to voxmyriad for beta! You're a lifesaver, bby.


End file.
